


You Must Be Halved

by SoulOfSnow



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Asoiaf - Fandom, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Other, Post- A Dance With Dragons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-24
Updated: 2012-03-24
Packaged: 2017-11-02 11:32:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/368558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoulOfSnow/pseuds/SoulOfSnow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arya is sent to give the gift to another target, but finds far more than meets the eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Must Be Halved

**Author's Note:**

> Basically this is not supposed to be quality- this was written for my friend Joana who cheered me up yesterday, so I offered to write her into ASOIAF with her favourite character; Arya Stark. It was only for some fun, and when she told me she liked it I decided to put it on here!

Where once the Kindly Man might have given her some prompt as to whom the recipient of the gift might be as he had with the old man selling ship insurance, this time he did not. Still, Arya did not think to question him as he once again led her down to the vault where the many faces awaited her.  
“Which one?” She asked quietly, watching the eyes of a few before her that seemed to follow her around the room. The Kindly Man pointed to the face before him, lifting the candle in his right hand to better see it. It was that of a girl with long thick black hair that if not for being braided down one side would be curly, too. Her skin was sun-kissed and smooth and her eyes were a warm, soft brown. There was no story Arya could derive from the girl’s face, and that worried her.  
“Who is she? Who am I?”  
“You are no one, as is this girl.” He replied softly, running his fingers through the ends of the curly black plait. Arya thought to question him further, but knew better than to ask too much in the House of Black and White.

When they reappeared from the vault and descended down the steps into the mulling street, the Kindly Man had vanished and Joana was alone. She wrapped a thin, faded shawl around her shoulders and vanished into the crowds. The Kindly Man was right. Whereas her previous face had garnered some looks of pity or revulsion, Joana did not. She blended in amongst the dark-haired Braavosi and the lack of scarring on her skin worked only to further blend into the common people. Joana was pretty, and evoked some looks from pauper boys doing their rounds, but she knew better than to pay them any mind. Once away from the bulk of the people in the streets, the walk alongside the canals was far easier. There were fewer people where once there might have been more, and Joana found she made shorter the journey from one side to the other. As though her feet knew where to go, or perhaps it was her face, Joana slipped beside two buildings; one an abandoned outhouse and the other a seedy brothel, and found herself in a square patch of garden. The grass was unfamiliar to her bare feet, and Joana welcomed it willingly. She wriggled her toes amongst the fine, short blades of green and took a long, deep breath. Ahead of her the garden was walled by large brown trees with only a few leaves remaining, and around the trunks the grass grew longer. Along the left and right side was shrubbery so dense it would impossible to pass through. Her target would approach from the trees. Soft brown eyes darted around the garden as Joana pondered the many ways to give the gift to this man. The brothel was busy but there were no windows facing the garden, so the gift could be given quickly and no one would notice. The abandoned outhouse was bleak and gloomy, and it would be some time before anyone realised there was a foul stench of death drifting from the cracked glass of the small window. By then she would be wearing the face of another, and Joana would be gone forever.

A stiff breeze swept through the tallest grasses and Joana crouched, poised and ready. It was only as she went to one knee she felt the blade at her hip. How had she not felt that before? She placed one hand on the hilt of the small dagger and waited. The breeze from the nearby sea was sweeping east, but Joana was quick to notice the grass move west. The target was here. Joana felt no fear, instead a surge of anticipation coiled up in her stomach and ripped free as she leapt up at the moving object _as swift as a deer_ , driving her dagger downwards. But, instead of the release of giving the gift and the heavy sigh of its recipient filling her senses, it was her own short, sharp gasp and she fell onto her back and her dagger slipped from her fingers.  
“For Winterfell!” Before she could blink, Joana heard the knife cut through the air with a soft hiss, and it was all she could do not to feel it pierce her chest. She rolled away and scrambled to her feet; catching her dagger between her toes and shifting it deftly back to her right hand. Joana lifted her eyes to meet a face all too familiar. Grey eyes and mouse-brown hair that framed a long, thin face. Joana let out a silent cry and dropped her dagger once more.  
“You… how can- no!” Joana felt her face falling, disappearing. She swallowed hard and concentrated, despite the shock of what she was seeing being so severe she thought her heart might give way. The girl who stood before showed the tiniest glimpse of a similar feeling, but suddenly her face was stone cold again, and the fear in her eyes was replaced by silent threats.  
“I am Arya Stark of Winterfell. My father was hand of the King!” She announced, and only then did Joana notice that the knife was not that sort of blade at all; it was Needle. _She can take my face, but she cannot have Needle._ Joana stepped forward to snatch the blade from the spindly girl’s hand, but Arya dodged and smacked her knuckles hard with the hilt of the sword. Joana wanted to scream, but fear had taken that ability entirely. She soothed her reddened knuckles with her fingers and stepped back to better see Arya Stark. _No, she is not Arya Stark. This is a trick and you are falling for it._ Before Joana could think to ask a single question, Arya jumped forward and stabbed at her with needle falling short a few inches. Joana ducked below the skinny blade and fished for her dagger, keeping her eyes fixated on her reflection. Arya was not Arya as she was not Joana. They were the same, only different. _You are giving the gift to the differences between you, not the similarities. You are not the same, you are one. You must be halved._ Joana knew what was best then. She kept low and swiped at Arya’s ankles. Bringing the girl to her knees would make her an easier target. But Arya seemed to know her every move, and was one step ahead each time. She rolled safely out of reach but was back on her feet and twisting on one foot to stand behind Joana before the black haired girl could turn. Joana felt Needle press hard against the skin of her throat; the soft, easily cut flesh that gave way all too easily. She seized up and dropped her dagger, hands fumbling for something to grab hold of on the girl’s dirty dress. The blade pressed tighter and Joana felt for sure Arya would cut her throat.  
“You’re not Arya Stark; I am!” She screamed, trying desperately to wriggle free. She closed her eyes tight and waited for the cold steel to do its duty.

“Who are you?” When Joana opened her eyes, her face was gone, as was the blade that clawed at the skin on her neck. She felt the bruising with her fingers, and when she pulled away she was met with the sight of blood. It ran through her fingers and dripped into the soft green grass. Before her stood the Kindly Man, and beside him Arya Stark of Winterfell sheathed Needle in its scabbard.  
“I am no one.” She replied as she shakily got to her feet. The Kindly Man shook his head.  
“You said you were Arya Stark, did you not?” His smile was warm but empty, and it made Arya tremble inside to see such an expression plastered across his face. Arya turned to look at the other girl, who seemed to be wearing Arya better than she could- and she was the real Arya. The Kindly Man turned to face Arya also, and nodded solemnly. When the two girl’s eyes met again, Arya’s face fell away, and the true identity of the girl was revealed. Joana dropped the scabbard at Arya’s feet and folded her arms.  
“You said you were Arya Stark.” Joana said, frowning slightly. Arya shook her head.  
“I am no one.” Arya said once more, though she was beginning to wonder who she was trying to persuade. Joana shook her head as the Kindly Man had. Arya felt trapped.  
“Where once you had worn each other’s faces, you now wear your own. Who are you?”  
“I am no one.” Joana said, and bowed her head submissively. The Kindly Man smiled at her, and this time his look was kind and genuine. _Who was the target for the gift? Was Joana the true target? Or was I?_  
“The true test was to look passed your face and remember your duty. You have failed Arya Stark of Winterfell.” The Kindly Man smiled no longer. Arya paled and stepped back. If they made her leave the House of Black and White, she’d be lost forever. This was all she knew, and all she wanted.  _I could kill my friends, my foes, even my family if he asked. But I couldn’t kill myself. Why?_ The Kindly Man stepped forward and picked up Needle. There was sadness in his eyes. It seemed he had grown to almost enjoy Arya’s company. When Arya felt for the dagger she had used as Joana, she found that it was gone, and in the hand of the other girl. The Kindly Man placed a hand on Joana’s shoulder and whispered something, before stepping passed them both and heading back the way Joana had come from the canals.  
“You noticed the outhouse, didn’t you?” Joana asked as soon as the Kindly Man was out of earshot. Though Arya was never sure he ever was.  
“You could leave a dead body in there, and it wouldn’t be found for some time.” Arya replied, shifting from one leg to the other. Joana stepped forward and the sunlight caught the blade just so it sparkled beautifully. _He asked her to kill me_.  
“He asked me to kill you.” _I knew it._ Arya took a deep breath.  
“Just so.” Arya said, though she herself could hear the fear in her voice.  
“What do we say to the God of death, Arya Stark?” Joana asked, and she flashed a small smile. Arya’s brow wrinkled in confusion. _How does she know this about me? Does she see my memories when she wears my face?_  
“Not today.” Arya replied, and the fear slipped from her words.  
“Not today… not today.” Joana flipped the blade in her hand and handed it to Arya hilt first. She took it swiftly before the girl could switch it round again and drive it through her gut. “The Kindly Man sent us to kill one another, Arya Stark. You might have given me the gift, and had he not have stopped me, I would have surely given it to you. But no longer will we take orders from the Kindly Man, Arya Stark. Do you know; when the Kindly Man is gone, I will take his place? I am many stages in development above you, and few below him.” Joana stepped forward and placed her hand on Arya’s shoulder, much like the Kindly Man had done to Joana not a few minutes before.  
She leaned close and whispered softly in Arya’s ear. “We shall present him with the gift.” Joana smiled and took Arya’s hand. Arya turned and walked beside Joana in silence along the canals, unsure if that had been a threat or a promise.

Arya hoped it was a promise; she wanted Needle back.


End file.
